#and the mutilation never happened in reality only in like. Manor Reality.

[fishandships]

this has been an ongoing discussion between my sister and i but forreal like. is Christina....undead? somehow? or has Philippe been driven so far out of his mind that he thinks she's still alive?

like on one hand she's CLEARLY a corpse in their intro short and in all their C-B tier skins (unclear in "Fury", confirmed a revenant of some kind or another for "Shower"), but eg in "their" JP twitter replies, where they both supposedly are responding but are they actually both responding or is Christina a figment of Philippe's delusions and "her" responses are just Philippe speaking for her and possibly not even being aware that "she" is just a voice in his head?

and then you get official arts like this one:

which like initially looks really cute!!! .....but like is Christina undead for Fun Little Illustration purposes and she's actually helping or like. did Philippe jam an icing bag in her hand like some fucked-up imitation of a kid with a doll who wants the doll to "help"...?

ALSO. can he like. "detatch" her from himself? like in "The Rosy Veil" the narrator never mentions her or the fact that Philippe mutilated himself but the story very clearly takes place after her death/the self-mutilation? or is the story not even canon @ netease i am BEGGING you for consistency and answers what the FUCK is happening here

[northofallmusic]

for fem wenzhou week i am... providing you with sections of fics i would love to write, but which would clearly be 10k. first up: a real haunted house of a story, for the prompt "sacrifice".

This is a messy one, based on zzs's guilt about liang jiuxiao's fate & wkx's brief impulse to destroy zzs's martial arts during the puppet manor arc, and it's about what you do and don't do to keep another person. it's also about zzs being mildly possessed maybe and hallucinating about a world in which she broke ljx in an entirely different way. reality unravels bit by bit. but also did you know wenzhou are in love!!

this snippet is about 800 words. enjoy(?) some vibes

cn: mutilation, manipulation, hallucination, vomiting, a certain amount of gore

She holds the girl by the hair. Fingers tight to the scalp, so tight that torn flesh has lodged below her fingers. She holds the knife easily. The girl thinks her throat will be slit. Zhou Zishu presses the point of the blade in. In and in. It sinks through cartilage, and then through the delicate inner space where the voice lives. The girl gurgles and thrashes. 

After, Zhou Zishu sits her down on the step of the house. She crouches before her, takes her hands.

She breaks the fingers one by one.

She kisses the girl's pale knuckles. She wipes her tears away.

"Good girl, Jiuxiao," she says. "You see? You don't need to worry about whether to tell my secrets or not. You're safe—"

And wakes wishing that she wanted to vomit. It would be nice to be human enough for that, for horror to routinely induce nausea. 

In reality, I would have drugged her until she could never speak again, she thinks. If it had been like that. A knife—really.

After breakfast, she does spend some time retching—but that's just the nails working on her insides, making her body reject food. Her bile splatters across the snow outside the manor, melting it slightly.

She sighs, kicks more snow over it until it's hidden from sight.

Lunch is bland and warming.

"It's because we're running out of food," Wen Kexing says, with a decisive sort of untruth which suggests that she's learning to pick her battles.

"It's your job to make sure we have enough," Zhou Zishu says. She sips at the thin soup which is apparently what Wen Kexing thinks Zhou Zishu's stomach can take.

"It's my job to do everything," Wen Kexing says, with a smile which is too flirtatious for the context. "It's just too much for me, A-Xu."

Zhou Zishu's insides twist around the nails.

Jiuxiao sits on the edge of the manor's roof, swinging her legs like a little girl.

"It's slippery," Zhou Zishu says. "Don't fall."

Jiuxiao shrugs. 

Blood is crusted at the corners of her mouth, and all down her front. 

"Come here," Zhou Zishu says. 

Jiuxiao doesn't. She's in a stubborn mood. 

Zhou Zishu clambers up to join her instead, and washes her face. 

"Doesn't your shijie always look after you?" she says. "Don't be like this."

Jiuxiao ignores her. She shuffles away, further out, until only her broken hands are keeping her balanced right on the edge of the roof. 

"Don't—" Zhou Zishu says—

Her feet slip on the ice-covered roof—in reality, in the waking world—she wakes—

Begins to laugh hysterically, even as she's wrenching her body away from the edge. A dream of falling indeed.

There are hasty footsteps—the door slides open below—how good of Zhou Zishu's sleeping body to close the door after itself.

"A-Xu?" Wen Kexing calls.

"I just needed some air," Zhou Zishu calls—not because she feels she can't tell Wen Kexing what happened, but but because she doesn't yet understand what it was.

"Come down," Wen Kexing says. "Oh, you're not dressed properly at all. Come, come, I'll make tea."

"I'd rather have wine," Zhou Zishu says. She jumps down from the roof, brushes herself off. Her body twinges as she lands, not from the drop but from the way the nails gnaw at her.

"Wine, then," Wen Kexing says.

They drink wine together in the room they share, the room Wen Kexing has invited herself into and shows no sign of leaving. 

"Come here," Wen Kexing says. She dabs wine from the corner of Zhou Zishu's mouth, and now Zhou Zishu is the one balancing precariously on the edge of a roof. Is the one who can't speak.

A person can break another person easily. 

Jiuxiao is training grimly in the courtyard, as though she will ever leave Zhou Zishu's home again. One more caged person. A sacrifice.

"You don't have what it takes at all," Zhou Zishu says. She sounds very cruel to her own ears. She circles around Jiuxiao. This isn't right, is it? She didn't treat Jiuxiao like this, did she?"

This is a dream. Zhou Zishu takes Jiuxiao by the wrist, pulls her indoors. The indoors is as cold as the outdoors. 

"Shifu?" Chengling asks, tremulous.

It's her narrow wrist in Zhou Zishu's grasp. 

Bent over around her aching stomach, retching, Zhou Zishu considers poisons. Hallucinogens, she thinks. Is the increased nausea a side effect of drugging, or is it only another thing her body is doing because it is dying?

If the nausea is a side effect, then which drugs?

If it is not, then which drugs?

Correct for location, connections. Correct for durability. 

She kneels, panting. That she can reach no definite conclusion is perhaps the most troubling thing.

[blackcatandbooks]

This review contains spoilers!

Triggers in this novel are drugs, drug use, past descriptions of violent rape and body mutilation, extreme descriptions of corpses including children's and how they were violently and vilely murdered, genocide, colorism, severed body parts, mentions of human experimentation, minor self harm(harm not used in a suicidal manor or depressive episode but as a mean of staying awake), description of bomb victims, and description of how a man plans to torture someone. These triggers aren't meant to warn readers off but to make sure that they are aware of the descriptiveness of some of the events. I read the trigger warnings others wrote and even then I was not prepared for how disturbing some of the events were. Most of these triggers happen in part three of the novel. Once the main character enters the city of Golyn Niis, if you want to skip most of the graphic descriptions of violence just skip ahead to the next chapter. The skipped chapter just describes the horrors found in the city and two of the main characters friends/schoolmates are found alive and they recount what happened in the city. This chapter is honestly where most of graphic description occurs so if you are on the fence about reading this novel know that while the novel does deal with dark themes this chapter is where the most graphic description is and it is easily skippable. I will explain in my review why I still think this book is worth reading even with all the trigger warnings. I just wanted to be more descriptive about the triggers because even though I enjoyed this book very much I was still very shocked and upset from some of the descriptions, so I just want others to be aware and have the chance to still read the novel while avoiding the same experience I went through.

I loved this book and, at the same time, am slightly haunted by this book. This book is not for the faint of heart, this is a book about war and does not shy away from the reality and horrendous nature of it. The Poppy War is a fantasy novel slightly based on the Second Sino-Japanese War that took place from 1937-1945. It is very clear that the main continent of Nikan is China and the long bow island of Mugen is Japan. If you know any about the war the series is based you know that it was ugly and brutal. Most Americans, myself included, were really only taught about our country was affected by Japan (Pearl Harbor) but not really about what happened to other countries, i.e. China. It wasn't until last year while doing novel research that I learned about the Nanjing Massacre/ The Rape of Nanjing. It was basically China's holocaust. The Japanese took over the city of Nanjing (the then capital of China) for six weeks and killed an estimated amount of 40,000 to 300,000 people (The huge number difference is because Japan says they only killed a smaller number while China says they recorded a higher). These were not swift, clean kills either, the Japanese soldiers murdered the Chinese citizens in horrific and utterly vile ways. There was also an estimated of 20,000 rapes ranging from all ages. The fact that this travesty isn't taught along side the Holocaust is saddening. (And unfortunately just like the Holocaust, there are those in Japan who believe that it never happened and say it's just propaganda). R.F. Kuang dedicated the novel to Iris Chang, the woman who wrote the book The Rape of Nanking which is basically the definitive source to go to about the event. Iris sadly killed herself (some say because of the novel and the aftermath she dealt from it).

So when reading The Poppy War, it is helpful to know the history behind it because, in a way, it justifies why Kuang wrote certain scenes as graphically as she did. She's not doing it for torture porn, she's doing it because this book is about the war and the effects it has on people, especially the the emotion of anger, hate, and revenge. The main character, Rin, struggles with these emotions while dealing with two people she respects on the two ends of spectrum: her master, Jiang, who doesn't want her to use her powers and let her rage go, and Altan, her commander, the only other person of her ethnicity (the Speerlies, who were wiped out in a mass genocide), who is nothing but rage, who has to smoke opium to feel anything but. The first part of the book is Rin's background, her education at Sinegard, the elite military academy, and her learning of her power and of the gods, and her learning under Jiang. Part two is Rin seeing what war actually is, and learning more about how the gods work, what Jiang didn't tell her, and learning under Altan. Part three is when the worst of the worst, when the massacre of Golyn Niis,(this world's Massacre of Nanking) happens, when Rin experiences a rage that she can't ignore. Rin then has to watch both of her mentors die from their choice of rage: Jiang chooses to not act out of fear of what could be released and locks himself under a mountain, and Altan who let the rage burn him up. Rin chooses to accept the god of fire and vengeance, the Phoenix, the god of the Speerlies, and in her rage chooses what happened to her people: Genocide. And I think the only way to even contemplate how someone could choose genocide is to see the horrors that they saw, the graphic aftermath of Golyn Niis. Although to be fair I did deduct a star because of the graphic description of the aftermath of Golyn Niis. I understand why Kuang did it but I still think she could have been edit it down. I can deal with violence in novels and movies but damn her descriptions were fucking haunting, especially since these were based on real life details of the Nanjing Massacre. I don't want to deter people from reading this novel because it is amazing, it has detailed world-building, a wide range of complex characters, and an interesting plot that I want to read more of, but I just want to make sure they know what they're getting into and know why it is the way it is. I'm definitely going to have to take a cleansing break before reading the next book, but I'm definitely reading the next one!

[darkpoisonouslove]

“Life at The Ancestral Manor”

Summary: Griffin wanted to share her future with Valtor but in agreeing to give him her life she also agreed to give it to the way things happen in his home of tradition that his mothers are making sure will be upheld. Can she hope that relationship will be allowed to grow and develop when she needs to put her everything into surviving each day they try to make her something that she’s not?

Mentions of death, murder, self-mutilation, arson, cults, coma, physical and emotional abuse, parental abuse, sex, sex toys, not consented to stop of birth control, alcohol abuse, cooking deer meat in detail (which was oddly disgusting to me so...) and strong language. Also, there are mentions of Bloom x Darkar and Bloom's portrayal isn't very flattering although it is just a reimagined version of the events in canon (plus, a few details that weren't there).

I had the mighty need to see Griffin and Valtor living with the Ancestral Witches for some reason the other day and I set out to write it. Well, this is what came of it. A lot of super fucked up stuff because it is the Ancestral Witches. Also, it is super long again because, of course, it is.

"That was delicious, Griffin," Valtor praised as he wiped his mouth with his napkin after he was done with his French toast.

Griffin smiled at him gently as she was careful not to let any venom seep out of her and poison him. "I'm glad you liked it." At least he appreciated all of her efforts. She was an early bird but that didn't make her love the fact that she had to rush to the kitchen and get started on breakfast instead of curling up into Valtor's side and greeting him with a kiss when he woke up. Of course, she didn't have to when there were people she could fall back on to do it for her but that meant never being allowed in the kitchen again and she'd fought too hard to earn her own agency of choice to let that happen.

"It certainly exceeds a number of other meals I've had," Belladonna said, her voice smooth like the surface of ice under your fingertips and just as cold, killing the compliment before it could even turn into such.

Griffin forced the smile to keep stretching her facial muscles when her mother-in-law's golden eyes found hers despite the discomfort that caused her. That was as much as she could hope to get from the woman who killed animals in cold blood for fun and had taught Valtor to do it, too. Or rather it was all she hoped there would be to her condescension.

"Rather simple, but we all have to resign to the limitations when you have to do it all yourself," Belladonna continued, making Griffin let the breath she was holding out of her nose as slowly and inconspicuously as she let her own pride slip out of her hands and shatter on the floor without even a sound to mourn its pitiful end. She couldn't make a scene at breakfast. It would just ruin her whole day when they made it their mission to make it hell. "I don't understand why you insist on doing it when the help is right here to do it for you but it is your choice and we all respect that," Belladonna kept stuffing ice cubes in her heart to make it freeze over like her own and have water flowing in her veins instead of blood. Even all the tea in the world couldn't warm her now and it was just Valtor's warm presence at her side that kept her from dying in the embrace of the hypothermia that was her mother-in-law's weapon of choice.

"I enjoy it, Mother Belladonna," Griffin said, her voice cutting lines in the thin ice separating her from the freezing water below that she was skating on. She could let her righteous anger sharpen her as much as she wanted as she tried to cling on to everything she loved and not let it sink in the cold indifference that was being forced on her but there was no escape from her frozen prison when Belladonna was taking away all of her sources of joy with ease as the fight was on her territory.

She couldn't help but catch Lysslis' smile of belittlement when it was designed to draw her attention to her and get in her head where it would start taking apart who she was to make space for who they wanted her to be. She'd need all that luck Zarathustra had wished her when she and Ediltrude had learned the three witches were to be her mothers-in-law. Having to force herself to cook every day because she would lose her kitchen privileges otherwise was draining every spark of happiness she was getting from the activity already but she wouldn't let them win. It had barely been half a year after she and Valtor had gotten married in the dead of winter and she still had more fight in her even if the heat of summer was not helping when she was home from school and trapped in their killer company.

"Simplicity is trending right now so if anything, Griffin is just staying up-to date, mother," Valtor took her side–quite literally as they were sitting opposite of his mothers at the long table in the dining room–and she would kiss him if she could. Currently though, she couldn't even catch his hand under the tablecloth since his mothers were watching them restlessly like the stars never stopped looking over all of the planets and they would see it instantly which would just pose a problem to the two of them as the three old hags didn't approve of witnessing displays of affection.

They didn't approve of affection in general and had only taken her as a daughter-in-law after DNA tests that had confirmed a child of hers and Valtor's would have an excellent genetic makeup making her nauseous in the process as they'd erased her humanity with one quick swipe over her being. The tests and the fact that she had golden eyes like all the other women of the Ancestral Manor. She'd literally been picked for her body and it had felt like she'd entered medieval times instead of her new life as Valtor's bride. But if anything, it had only stated loudly how much she loved him to go through all of that and be with him. Even his mothers had looked impressed by her determination and hadn't even allowed themselves to insinuate she was a gold-digger.

"Of course, she is," Tharma said, her voice crackling like static like it always did. She always felt like she was about to explode and Griffin was pretty sure that it was like that because that was exactly what was happening. The woman–Griffin would only truly believe any one of them was human when she saw their corpses since none of them seemed to have aged for the past twenty-five years which might have just traumatized Valtor more with the promise of their curse hanging over his head for an undetermined amount of time–didn't even have the proverbial short fuse and could self-detonate on the spot if it weren't for her sisters to keep her collected with their icy gazes and creeping terror. "That is what has kept this family afloat for centuries and every member needs to keep to it." Meaning that they would throw her out the moment she couldn't catch up with their impossible standards.

"Yes, mother," Valtor said, the response automatic at this point but that didn't seem to upset any of his mothers. It seemed to please them rather–nothing better than turning your child into a robot keeping to your every command–and win Valtor and her the opportunity to focus on each other for the time being. "What are you doing today?" Valtor asked, pulling her away from the dreadful reality of their presence and into what was left of her own life, of their life.

He always cared and stopped to ask how she was doing even when his mothers had already piled two hundred other more pressing things on his shoulders. Although, in their eyes everything was more pressing than love and it was a joke when that included "the family reputation" when they didn't even have a definition of family. And if they did, it was distorted by all the shards of cold that were the only remains of their souls.

"Ediltrude and Zarathustra are coming over so... trying to stay sober would be a good start," she said, doing her damnedest to keep her eyes on him and not on the warped reflections of them that his mothers' gazes were when they shared the same eye color but the emotions that came through in the gold were vastly different.

She hated herself for slipping into the anxiousness their presence loaded her with like she was nothing more than yet another weapon they could yield to hurt him like they'd done their whole life by turning what he loved against him and making him hate it. They would interfere anyway so she had to make the most of it and focus on him. Him and what the day had to offer once she managed to free herself from the net of their scrutiny.

"You know how hard it is to refuse Ediltrude to drink with her." Valtor and Ediltrude had hit it off that first Christmas and she'd never gotten to meet his mothers at the appointed Christmas dinner which had given her one last holiday free of their presence but there'd been retribution from them towards Valtor that had kept him from seeing her as well. "Even when it's eleven a.m." That wasn't going to be her saving grace either and she could only hope for a miracle to keep the alcohol away from her and Ediltrude away from it.

"I'm sorry, dear," or a curse, "but you're going to have to reschedule," Lysslis grabbed at the chance to ruin her plans so viciously that it was bleeding toxic glue on her to get her stuck in the place they wanted her, in their own garden of misery they'd personally grown just for her in some sort of sick gift that did everything for them and nothing for her. Nothing good that was. "Today will not be possible," Lysslis said and Griffin was surprised she'd given her the opportunity to speak a few sentences before she'd let her own tongue slither out. But of course, that way it was Griffin's words that ripped into her when she'd allowed herself to believe she could have something her way in the home from hell.

"I thought you didn't have any urgent work today, Mother Lysslis," Griffin let herself play dumb when she'd double checked with their personal assistant. Mandragora was an oversized pest that completely deserved her name when she started screeching the moment someone who wasn't her bosses poked her the wrong way–or any way, really–but she wouldn't allow herself to lie to her if it concerned her and her mothers-in-law's dealings did since they insisted on holding all their meetings at the mansion as if offices didn't exist. But apparently they weren't too old to retire but were too old to work outside the mansion.

"Exactly," Belladonna said and Griffin could only hate herself for how helpless she was against the way her blood froze at a single word from the woman. "There will be nothing to distract us from the presence of your mismatched friends," she said and Griffin couldn't even draw in all the breath she needed when the ice needles of Belladonna's gaze on her would poke holes in her lungs if she allowed them to expand past their normal movements. "I will never understand how someone with your poise and grace can stand to be around people who are so... unrefined."

The trap clicked closed, holding both her heart and her tongue and threatening to pluck them out if she dared let them run free but she couldn't just keep sitting obediently like a dog while Belladonna threw insults of her friends in her face like they were treats she'd deserved for good behavior. She had to stand up for herself and her friendship.

"That's okay," she let the honey drip from her lips sweet like a topping they'd all hopefully choke on to go with her steely gaze that would've cut through anyone else but only had the ice of Belladonna's biting back into it in a warning that was more a red flag rather than a courtesy even if her rage was already burning white hot and Griffin hadn't even started. "You're busy figuring out so many other things. We've got this one covered for you, Mother Belladonna," Griffin said, looking right into the molten abyss that her mother-in-law's eyes were as if it wasn't absolutely suicidal and wouldn't doom her to a terribly agonizing death. But she needed to let her know just what she meant with that.

Belladonna had just sisters and a son she'd done her best to break and mold according to her own vision while Griffin had the twins who were her sisters in everything but blood and her husband she loved enough to accept even as he came packaged with three sociopaths because that was what love was. But of course, there was no way for Belladonna to know that when all her friends were fake and the best she could hope for after her own husband's death–or murder–were the business partners who only stayed in contact with her out of obligation. She was sure no one would stick around which just posed the question how genuine any sisterhood between her mothers-in-law was. And they could all hear it echoing loudly around them even if Belladonna would love to crush it under a block of ice just like she'd handle her.

"Speaking of meetings," Lysslis saved her–not before Belladonna made it clear that had Griffin been anyone else other than Valtor's wife, she would've stuffed her in the fridge and served her in small pieces at her annual reception celebrating the foundation of the family business year after year so the guests would be infected with her agony for life even if they wouldn't know it–although they definitely weren't speaking of meetings but rather of a killing match at this point but Griffin wasn't quick to relax before she learned the price of the little miracle she'd let her have. "I will have you inviting your mother to come shopping with us next Saturday," she was quick to inform her what suffering she'd traded her current predicament for and her tone was so casual as she knew she'd set it up perfectly to make Griffin sacrifice what little time she actually got to spend with Valtor in the name of an activity she hated even when she was with her friends. Of course, she'd pick Saturday even when they could go shopping literally any other day of the week.

"Of course, Mother Lysslis," she agreed so readily that it made her sick of her own pretense. Or rather the lack of such when she knew she didn't have any other choice but to leave herself at Lysslis' hands now since Belladonna was still mad at her and Tharma was normally angry on a good day and neither of them would hold back Lysslis' wrath was Griffin to unleash it. All she had left was to hope she'd manage to stand her ground while going around stores that were far off from the plane of existence of a high school teacher since they'd let up a bit on trying to dictate her choice of clothes after the preventive measures she'd taken in regards to that. "If I may ask who "us" includes so that my invitation will be the most accurate version of itself?" Griffin prodded carefully even when she knew that kind of sneakiness would never work with Lysslis.

"The three of us, you and your mother, of course," Lysslis said, the metallic rays of her mind piercing through Griffin's heart easily when it was so softened by the hope she'd let fill it that she'd only have to stand straight under the burden of Lysslis' cunning and manipulations.

Great. It was bad enough when she was being buried under all the insecurities Lysslis managed to dig out without even damaging her manicured nails in any way to get her to bend to her will. Having all three of them against her when they made her head spin with how fast they had her in and out of different outfits was a battle she wasn't sure she'd be able to win even with her mother by her side.

History was more Valtor's area of expertise but she could find herself in need of turning to it and making it repeat. They'd left her alone the previous time when she'd set the wardrobe on fire–all the clothes they'd bought that afternoon had been lost by the time Mike had arrived with his firemen and she'd only mourned the money that had been wasted instead of going towards something productive–and they hadn't tried to order her around directly after that. They'd instead taken a stealthier approach, mostly leaving Lysslis to handle her by fishing out her fears with her teeth hidden behind the warpaint that her blood red lipstick was.

She used them to decorate her attitude of supremacy while she decorated Griffin however she wanted to when the shadows she'd grown in her mind were twisting and turning it as they tried to snap it in half and Griffin was too busy trying to free herself from them to have any energy left to spare on keeping Lysslis out of her head as well. There was no way she could handle all three of them when they sank their claws in her and tried to rip her apart to stuff the pieces of her in whatever clothes they deemed appropriate. So another arson might be due. Even if the only reason Tharma hadn't slapped her for endangering the mansion had been that Valtor had stepped in front of her and gotten slapped himself.

Despite their constant verbal abuse and mind games, they'd never allowed themselves physical violence before that. And after it, too, as Tharma had spent the next week suspended in her room and the glaring empty space on Belladonna's right had somehow only reinforced the idea that she was an all-powerful monster not to be messed with. The lack of reaction on Valtor's part towards the bruise forming on his cheek had been what had made her break down in their bedroom, though, and lament her choice until he'd picked her up and carried her to the bed where he'd told her to never stop defending her agency when it wasn't her that was hurting him. It had never been. And she'd worn his fierce love of her like her armor against Lysslis' attempts to convince her that it was all her fault.

It had worked that time. She could only hope it would work again even if that left her heart too malleable and easy to manipulate.

"It would be nice to spend some time with her," Lysslis said and Griffin would have been afraid of how easily the lie dripped from her lips if she weren't used to it. In fact, assuming that everything that came out of her mouth was a lie was the best way to deal with Lysslis and avoid falling for her traps. It might have been unfair if it weren't true ninety-nine percent of the time and the fact that even Tharma and Belladonna were mindful of her and double checked her story when she'd done something on her own just confirmed that. "We haven't seen good old Emalyn in so long," Lysslis shook her head as if in regret. And perhaps it was.

Perhaps it was regret that they had to socialize with a lowly middle class retired nursery teacher. Emalyn was everything that they weren't and knowing Griffin carried her genes was only looked over because the DNA tests overrode it in importance by proving that those were the perfect genes to combine with Valtor's and somehow that made Griffin's genetic makeup desirable all of a sudden.

And to call her mother old as if they weren't ancient even though they didn't look the part? That was an insult Griffin would never swallow if her mom hadn't warned her not to get into fights with her mothers-in-law on her behalf after they'd made a remark about taking all the expenses on the wedding since, apparently, Emalyn and that dead husband of hers were no good to even pay for their daughter's wedding–which had been far bigger and much more expensive than Griffin had ever wanted it to be but she'd had no say on the matter as they'd insisted that a new marriage in the family had to be a public affair–and Griffin had been ready to rip they heads off. Emalyn had stopped her, though, and reminded her that it would only hurt herself and Valtor and her mom could never want that for them which had proven that she was the only mother either of them had despite allegedly having four.

Griffin mirrored that smile Lysslis gave guests when she wanted them to know that all that they were was met with contempt. She'd learned how to reflect it even if some of the effect was lost when she could never hope to have been capable of pulling it off without seeing it first. "I'm sure she shares the sentiment." She most certainly did considering the depth of the resentment thriving in the shade of the words.

"Now that that's settled," Tharma stepped in and drew her attention away from where Lysslis looked proud that Griffin had picked something up from her instead of being offended, "we can talk about dinner."

"Is there anything special you would like for dinner, Mother Tharma?" Griffin asked, her stomach trying to do a somersault that would send all of the food she'd just ingested back up her throat to make space for whatever Tharma would want of her now but Griffin held it back. She couldn't let them now she got sick whenever they made their requests that ranged from mildly offensive through awful to horrendous. Especially when she was sure they suspected. She couldn't give them the confirmation herself.

"Valtor will have some good news for us tonight so I thought we should celebrate," Tharma said and Griffin did her best not to clutch at her fork since she was pretty sure she would snap it in half even if it was solid stainless steel. Which was exactly the same reason that she didn't try to catch Valtor's hand to help him drain off some of the pressure Tharma had just piled on his shoulders if there hadn't been enough of that already. "And a special occasion calls for a special meal, doesn't it?" Tharma asked as if they were kindergartners whose brains hadn't developed enough yet to make a simple connection if it weren't pointed out to them. And also to let the dread set deep inside Griffin's body when she'd most certainly have her cooking some animal they had caught.

"You know that Argulus is our best client so you need to be at the top of your game," Belladonna reminded Valtor as if he hadn't been working at the company ever since he'd turned eighteen. By now he would have most certainly learned that even if his mind weren't as sharp as the diamonds they were selling but she just had to nag as if Valtor hadn't renegotiated contract terms with Argulus before. They were practically friends and even if loyalties weren't really a thing in their business, she was sure that Argulus would at least try to resolve any potential issue before going elsewhere for his precious diamonds.

"Yes, mother," Valtor agreed, his tone snappy when his patience was starting to give way under their distrust in him even after they'd stolen his youth and replaced it with preparations to become the head of the business and he'd been doing the job for years. "I always am." Valtor seemed to have had the exact same thought and she wanted to smile at them sharing a mind but that would be misplaced and would most certainly get stained by his mothers' intolerance of their happiness if they saw it. And they would.

"Hardly true half of the time," Lysslis was quick to cut off his unexpected bout of confidence like it was a flower she'd decided to pluck off for decoration of her table. Except she didn't like flowers and it had been completely unnecessary, not to mention far heavier a crime when it was her own son she'd hurt. But of course, she only cared about that in a backwards fashion where she was prouder when the damage she'd done was bigger.

Griffin had to do something since she couldn't watch him like that. He already looked like a sunflower that had withered prematurely and she needed to stop them before they could do more damage. Even if it meant drawing their attention to herself.

"I can cook his favorite-"

"Roast leg of venison," Tharma interrupted her before she could even suggest that she did something her husband would enjoy even if the dinner was supposed to celebrate his success and the order was clear in the tone that allowed no objections. Not that she could have any–as much as she hated to admit it–since they certainly knew their game better than she did. She wouldn't be caught dead going near the stuff if they weren't making her. "Sliced venison tongue salad as an appetizer and venison liver crème caramel for dessert will complete the menu to perfection," Tharma said, looking at her like she expected her to throw up on the spot. Which, frankly, sounded like an appealing option.

"Yes, of course, Mother Tharma," Griffin agreed as she did her best to hold in her disgust–especially when it came to the dessert idea–but she might have started turning green since Tharma looked pleased. Though, that might have been how quickly she'd relented when she knew she didn't have an alternative. She rarely had any other option but to do as they wished. As if they were giving her the occasional treat for being such a well-trained lapdog and if the cooking adventures that awaited her hadn't made her sick already, then that thought was certainly helping.

"Valtor, don't forget there's also a delivery coming in today," Tharma turned to him, a look of warning striking him to remind him it was all very secretive and had to remain that way. Which was why the deliveries were made directly to Valtor's office and personally to him instead of to the house where either the personnel or a random guest could get their hands on the forbidden knowledge of what was in Tharma's box. Well, the deliveries were for all the three witches.

"Don't worry, mother, your products are in good hands," Valtor allowed himself the indiscretion which to Griffin was amusing but Tharma didn't seem to appreciate the threat of having the insides of her words exposed even if it was too late for that. Valtor had already told Griffin it was their ozone cosmetics that were proving to be the fountain of their youth. That and the countless souls they chewed on slowly year after year and consumed the energy of everyone around them to sustain themselves. The perfect crime indeed. "Have I ever forgotten before?" Valtor asked and she had to catch his hand to let him know she was proud of his continuing bravery after they chewed into him every time he displayed it. She couldn't care less that they'd notice. Let them see.

"Of course not, Valtor," Tharma seemed to agree which meant that there was more. "You'd never fail to listen when I remind you." There it was. And of course, she'd steal everything he deserved the credit for. They weren't just energy vampires. They sucked out entire lives and they'd been doing that to Valtor under the guise of raising him ever since he'd been born.

"Go now," Belladonna urged, her gaze cutting into the space between the two of them to indicate that she was in a rush to separate them. Heaven forbid they actually got to enjoy any of their time together when they weren't locked in their own bedroom.

"Yes, mother," Valtor didn't try to protest since it would only get them both snowed in under an avalanche of critiques and he wanted to save them from that. "Have a nice day," he barely spared at his mothers before turning to her. "Goodbye, Griffin," he said as he made sure to catch her gaze and let her know how much he loved her since saying it out loud would only draw the dirt of their disapproval to it. "Make the best of the day," he said since he knew very well that she much preferred to be at work instead of stuck at home with his mothers all day–he'd been through that hell and knew it even better than she did–and kissed her cheek, his lips letting so much tenderness soak into her skin even though the contact was brief.

"Have a nice day yourself," Griffin wished as she squeezed his hand. She knew how much he overworked himself when she was the one massaging all the stress out of his stiff muscles every evening while his mothers were resting all their burden on his shoulders.

"Well, now it will be," Valtor squeezed back to let her know he'd gotten the message. "Even if it doesn't want to," he said before letting go.

Griffin smiled at the optimism that needed just a ray of encouragement to come out from under the years of trauma and bad experiences his so called family had buried it under and completely on purpose at that. But they hadn't managed to smother it in all the cold they'd given him instead of oxygen. It was still there and she was ready to shine on it with all of her love to see it grow and reach for the cosmos since it was strong enough to do that. Especially with her faith in him to support it.

"You should start on dinner, Griffin," Belladonna said, her cold breath making the surface of Griffin's eyes freeze over to keep the sight of Valtor's retreating back out of them and it sent chills down her spine.

"Of course, Mother Belladonna," Griffin agreed and quickly slipped out of her chair and towards the kitchen. She didn't have to object when she was perfectly content with finally being out of their sight as their eyes were like molten lava just waiting to erupt and swallow her to bury her in a cage of obsidian. Even the nightmare waiting for her in the kitchen was a better option than that.

Once in the kitchen–that was suspiciously empty even though there was always personnel in there but, of course, they wouldn't let her have any help when they'd set out to torture her–Griffin made it her first order of business to pull a deer leg out of one of the freezers. They should have probably been kept in a different space altogether considering there were a lot of them–and all were full of hunting game–but her mothers-in-law liked to keep their trophies nearby. And in this particular instance it made her job easier since she only had to get the meat to the table where she could leave it to thaw while she looked for recipes.

She was no expert on cooking meat and the one time she'd cooked deer meat, all three old hags had complained it was overcooked and stiff. She could ask them on how she was supposed to cook what they wanted but after the humiliating experience of having them lecturing her about it the previous time even though they hadn't cooked a thing in their lives and the kitchen was her territory but they'd still trumped her when they knew how well cooked venison was supposed to look and taste, she would sooner die than let them coach her again. Which would still happen if she didn't pull the three-course dinner off so she needed to do her research. Fortunately, that was when the internet came to her rescue.

Of course, they'd give her tasks that would send all of her day to hell. The total time she'd need for all the dishes if she decided to cook them separately was about nine hours which would still leave it ready in time for dinner but would make her unwilling to set foot in the kitchen ever again which would mean that they'd won. So multitasking it was.

That would have been much easier if she was actually acquainted with cooking any of those dishes and also didn't prefer to cut out their tongues and cook them instead of the deer tongues she was left with even though they still made for a better company than her mothers-in-law. Not to mention that the leg she'd gotten was too big for the recipe she'd found and she needed to switch it with a smaller one. At least the kitchen was well stocked so she had the ramekins she needed for the crème caramel. Products and utensils were not the problem, really. No, what was the problem was that it was all set up against her.

The crème caramel was the cherry on top truly since they knew desserts were her pride and specialty and were doing their best to turn that against her. Succeeding, too, unlike her who wasn't even given the chance to come out of that fight victorious since, apparently, the liver for the crème should have been soaked in milk from the previous evening. They were setting her up for failure and she was starting to lose it long before she'd made it to any of the actual cooking.

She considered calling her mom but that would definitely fall under procrastinating. Especially when she went on a long rant about how unfair all of it was even though she'd known it would be like that when she'd said "I do" to Valtor. Besides, there was enough time to call her after she was done with that cooking disaster to proceed to the shopping disaster that was showing on the horizon like an antipode to the sunrise she loved dearly.

She had to call the twins to tell them not to come and, hopefully, convince them to stay on the phone with her and keep her company while she cooked even if distractions could prove to be counterproductive. It was the only way for her to handle what was supposed to be one of her favorite activities and she could only count on their love for her to override the fact that she was going to wake them up at least an hour earlier before they would get up now that it was summer vacation. But she needed them to keep her sane like they'd done when her father had died.

Griffin shook her head to make the horrifying memories drop out of it and shatter against the floor as she called Zarathustra. It was the lesser evil since she was probably awake but still doing her best to catch a wink of sleep anyway and could spare Ediltrude the early awakening and Griffin her sister's wrath for the aforementioned crime.

She held her breath as the phone rang and it was yet another reminder that her dear mothers-in-law were killing her but she pushed the thought down to suffocate instead of her. The universe seemed merciful at least in that regard as Zarathustra picked up and even though the call ended up waking Ediltrude, they both agreed to stay on the phone with her and talk since their meeting was so rudely canceled.

"They really denied us access to the sacred ground?" Zarathustra asked, her disbelief far too real considering she knew how the three witches operated but that just made Griffin love her more and be that much more grateful that her friends were so genuine and never made her wonder whether they truly liked her or were just faking it. She could count on them to take up any problem with her they had to her and it was the most comforting thought at the moment. "That is so disgustingly privileged." Zarathustra scoffed and Griffin could practically hear the disdain forming curses in her head over the speaker phone.

"Believe me, I know," Griffin huffed. "This is my home, too, and I should be able to invite my closest people here," she said, still somewhat surprised that she could think of the mansion as home when she hated so much about it. But it was Valtor's home, the only home he'd ever known, and he'd told her that her presence made it livelier when there were more plants around and the aroma of oregano tea and cookies was luring towards the kitchen. She wanted to be where he was and be his home, and have him be hers, too. "But no, our friendship will sully their décor, I suppose," Griffin said, nearly grateful for the rage over their treatment of her relationships as it would help her get through the meat. Quite literally since she needed to make holes in the leg for the garlic cloves.

"Griff, they're just trying not to go broke since they'll need to restock their liquor cabinet after me and trust me, that shit is expensive as hell," Ediltrude joked, trying to brighten her mood since she could most certainly feel the energy vibrating and brewing inside her even through the phone.

It was enough to scald a normal person but there was no one who fit the description around since her friends were on the other end of the line–and also disaster personified so they were safe on all accounts–the personnel was gone and her mothers-in-law were ancient demons Valtor's father had somehow managed to summon from hell. Most certainly by mistake or ignorance. Nobody would want to be married to a monster like any one of them as Lysslis' husband had proven as he'd filed for divorce just a week after the wedding.

"They're the ones who are way too much expenses on my life," Griffin said as she impaled the meat with the knife. No point in stalling. She had to get to it if she didn't want to be kitchen bound all day like some modern version of Cinderella. Only it was the evil mother-in-law and her sisters against her. Not that that made the fight any easier for her. Quite the opposite, in fact, and all she had left to do was stab the meat with her outrage like she'd completely lost her mind to it. She probably looked like a psychopath so, again, good thing that no one was around. She was pretty sure her mothers-in-law would leap at the chance to have her drugged on her prescribed meds if she gave them a reason to think she needed a psychiatrist.

"Are you sure you should talk like that while in their kitchen?" Zarathustra asked and made her want to scream since she knew how fierce both of the twins were. If they were scared of the witches, then she had to be, too. And she was, but she really didn't appreciate being reminded of that when she had to share living quarters with them. It left her feeling like fish out of water in her own home. Especially when she knew they were well aware of her hatred of them and returned it but still tolerated her when she was the wife they'd needed to buy their son anyway.

"It's my kitchen, Zara," she did her best to cushion her voice as she snapped. It wasn't her friend's fault. No one was at fault except for Belladonna and her sisters. "After Valtor and I got married, we got ownership of the mansion, remember?" Griffin said, trying to convince herself more than anything else.

The mansion could be hers on paper but it still bowed to them completely and so did she when she was more a part of the interior rather than a human being with her own mind and right to making choices. She wouldn't truly be the Mistress of the Ancestral Manor until they were gone even if Belladonna had officially passed the title down to her and despite herself, she wanted to be. She wanted to be if that meant that they would be free of them. Maybe then she could even have a child when she was free of the terror of what they would do with it. Perhaps even a girl and not the obligatory boy to continue the family lineage and find himself a housewife to take care of the precious mansion passed down from generation to generation and binding every next one in its old-fashioned and offensive traditions. Once they were gone, she could set her own rules. If she'd manage to outlive them and the stress they were burying her under as it was far more than six feet on top of her at this point and it'd barely been half a year since the wedding.

"I hate to break it to you, sister, but you're still under their reign," Ediltrude said as she'd sensed her thoughts and was trying to keep her grounded which was not just useful but necessary considering the fight that awaited her but right now it felt good to be in a fantasy. In a world she'd made up where she could have a daughter with beautiful golden eyes that were just that. Beautiful eyes and not a sign that she bore the makings of a Mistress of the Ancestral Manor, a wife. She would be the heiress and own the place. She would be the one who could bring the change the mansion needed and drag it out of the past to forge her own future, one that wouldn't be owned by a breathless, soulless house and the old witches it had made.

"Yes, that was a clause in the contract," Griffin said to grasp at tangible things and the legalities of their deal were the most palpable thing she could think of when they left her with the presence of her mothers-in-law which would last for heaven knew how long. Though, hell would probably be more in place in that sentence. "We have to take care of them until death finally manages to pry life out of their claws." There were chills running through her that weren't coming from the cold meat in her hands when she wasn't sure if even death was stronger than her enemies. And that was a very disturbing thought considering it had taken her father away when he'd always been the most secure heart in her life. "So for the next 30-40 years." Or so she hoped. She could just pray it wouldn't be more even if she weren't religious. She'd never been, and her encounter with her now mothers-in-law had only solidified that position.

"Aren't they, like, ancient?" Ediltrude asked, the pages of her magazine rustling when she probably used it to demonstrate her confusion in a grand, dramatic gesture. And here Griffin had sworn to be careful not to end up with another drama queen as a friend after Ediltrude and Hagen–and herself, too, but that did not go into the current train of thought–only to find herself married to one.

"Yeah. They can't be under seventy at this point even if their magical cosmetics take off twenty years," Zarathustra joined her sister and Griffin was grateful that they were doing their best to provide some comfort but she knew it wasn't up to them when the three witches were in the picture and the cosmetics weren't the only magic at play there. Good diet–despite their passion for hunting, they were careful with the cholesterol that could prove to be the one gun to end them if they didn't control it which, of course, they did very closely–and eating souls were giving splendid results so far. Well, splendid for them.

"Oh, they are," Griffin said, her knife almost flying out of her hand at her own theatrics. "They are seventy-three. At least Belladonna is and I'm still not quite sure whether they're triplets or not." They never disclosed anything personal but that had come out during the transfer of the mansion to the only result of terrifying her all the more when she'd learned she'd been far off in her guess of the woman's age. "But I'm not really sure they're mortal," Griffin confessed and it was so much scarier to hear the thought out loud even if it had been plaguing her mind since she'd learned their age.

Really, they didn't look older than fifty despite their white hair that Griffin could think of at least two purposes for. One, make them look like apparitions to increase the natural terror they awoke in whoever was standing in front of them and two, clash with their painted faces and nails and their designer clothes to tell you they were of age but still had far more class and beauty than you could ever dream of. And it worked on both accounts leaving you with the need to scream but you had to mute yourself somehow because that would just give them more life power and would hand victory to them.

Ediltrude laughed. "Come on, Griffin. The women may be vicious witches – I mean, reindeer meat? Who even eats that nowadays? And knowing that they caught it themselves... Oh, wow, okay." Griffin heard her moving in the armchair she was sitting in, the leather one that definitely did not fit with the rest of the interior of their living room but they both loved and she knew why when she'd found herself dozing off in it more than once since it was that comfortable. "I am starting to see your point," Ediltrude said in that voice that was slightly slowed down from her normal speed of speaking when her mind was racing. "How the fuck are they still hunting at that age?" she asked when she finally did the math that threw you for a loop when it ended in an infinity symbol that stood for their eternal life.

"I'm telling you," Griffin sighed. "They're not human," she said, any thought of stabbing them with the knife she was holding dying out when she wasn't sure she wanted to murder her own hope that they would be the ones to die some day. She wouldn't be able to handle the result of her experiment and the consequences of it. Even if they didn't do anything to her for the attempt on their lives. They would've already done it with the knowledge that it hadn't been an attempt at all when they weren't mortal.

"Well, Lysslis did have a violent reaction to Ediltrude's cat," Zarathustra said as she tried to prove to her that there was fear in her mothers-in-law, too. And it would have worked if the reason for that hadn't been that the cat had snatched a photo album out of Lysslis' bedroom. The way she'd looked around had suggested she was hiding it from her sisters and Griffin supposed that was because it was full of old pictures.

Lysslis wasn't the sentimental type even if she managed to look the part but she certainly was one to keep dirt on her sisters which made Griffin suspect that the album was old and contained evidence from their youth. Evidence that could support the rumors that the three of them had made their way into the manor with deception by having gold injected in their irises which had left them blind and in need of lenses that replaced their lost sight by sending electrical impulses to the brain with the coded visual information.

She wouldn't have trouble believing it at all. She'd seen their ambition taking lives–literally–and was sure that it went as far as mutilating themselves as well. Everything for the metaphorical crown.

That, of course, did not help convince her that they were people and only did the opposite instead even if it brought them down a little on account of them not having all the characteristics of a Mistress of the Ancestral Manor but that hardly mattered when they'd proved that they were the most fearsome women to ever have that title. And Lysslis was cold-blooded enough to keep proof of their monstrosities against her sisters, though that did hint that she was afraid of them. But on the other hand, who wouldn't be? Even monsters could fear other monsters. Especially when they were the same as them.

"Though, they were looking at the snakes like they were moving belts," Zarathustra said like they'd shared the same inner musings when Griffin knew that hadn't been the case. The twins had insisted that it wasn't possible when she'd told them what claims were going around when it came to her mothers-in-law.

"Hush, my babies are still traumatized," Ediltrude scolded which wasn't unexpected since she'd forbidden the topic after she'd had both snakes wrapped around her like they were trying to suffocate her which hadn't really been their intention and had hidden their heads under her hands. They'd gotten scared when they'd felt the thoughts the three old hags would've loved to make true and that only Griffin and the twins had been standing in the way of. As if Ediltrude would ever let anyone hurt her snakes. She would sooner kill than let anyone lay a hand on them or on her sister and that was one thing Griffin could always guarantee no matter who Ediltrude was facing.

"She's cuddling the snakes, isn't she?" Griffin asked as she already had a mental image that she was sure was absolutely precise. It was the other typical characteristic of that leather armchair as it was the usual place where the snakes liked to lounge. Especially if Ediltrude was there–or Zarathustra or Griffin, really–and they could climb all over her.

"Yep. I have a completely insane sister," Zarathustra said and Griffin could see her shaking her head at the sight of Ediltrude cooing at the snakes and stroking them. It was an odd image but one that Griffin was used to by now and had found herself replicating even if she hadn't liked Ediltrude's very idea of pets when she'd had to room with them from the get-go in their college dorm. They'd grown on her, though, and she'd found herself happy to feel them slithering over her the first time the twins had visited the mansion and Ediltrude had thought it appropriate to bring them with her to cheer Griffin up. It had even worked as the snakes had seemed like absolute angels compared to the three she now lived with when she knew the ones curling into her wouldn't hurt her.

"Oh, shut up, Miss I'll-just-go-and-join-a-cult," Ediltrude threw at her sister and almost made Griffin rub at her temples before she remembered she'd just been touching the deer meat and that was definitely ill-advised. She couldn't help the impulse when a fight between the twins was brewing, though, and them focusing on each other was definitely the first and only sign of that as their squabbles only needed so much to kick into motion.

"We agreed to never bring that up again," Zarathustra screeched angrily and Griffin could imagine the way her whole body was moving forward, ready for a fight. Something both twins were always prepared for which made for an explosive atmosphere. Something she'd gotten her fair share of when they'd been roommates. "It was a mistake, okay? You of all people should know enough about that," Zarathustra kept it up and Ediltrude would bite the bait and start harping on, too, in a second and she would lose them to their argument. She had to do something.

"Come on, you two, break it off!" Griffin cried out and it was more desperate rather than authoritative but that was all she could manage at the present time. "I need you to keep me company through this hell of a day, not send each other to hell," she said when she knew that would get them back to her. They were good friends even if they crossed the line sometimes with their teases that went from mischievous straight to cruel faster than a rally car accelerated.

She was picking up Valtor's car figures of speech which was just another thing they would prod into if they knew so she had to be careful not to give herself away.

"Sorry, Griffin," both twins chimed in at the same time which she was sure left them glaring at each other but they kept to the truce she'd called and she was grateful to have their support when there was not much of anything else keeping her focused and stopping her from melting into a puddle of self-pity under the judgment of her mothers-in-law's golden eyes that she could see in her mind perfectly now that they'd taken the time to so helpfully engrave it there.

Dinner took about all day despite her decision to work on the dishes parallel to each other and she ate lunch in the kitchen like she was their servant but that was not correct. She was more of a slave, really, and she was getting tempted to start looking into ways to get away with poisoning them, the only thing that was stopping her being that that wasn't her. Her parents hadn't raised a murderess and she wouldn't let her alleged new mothers make her something that she wasn't, make her like them.

There were rumors that Belladonna had killed her husband for cheating on her which Griffin knew weren't true as much as she hated admitting it. Belladonna certainly wouldn't have tolerated cheating despite how cold and uninviting she was–which was fair enough since that didn't give anyone a pass for cheating–but that was a problem she would have resolved before it had even become such and far more delicately, for certain. A little bromine in his drinks every day and there was nothing to worry about which might have been just the perfect solution from another point of view as well but that was none of Griffin's business and she really didn't need, nor want to go there.

No, what had most certainly seen the three sisters–she was sure Lysslis and Tharma were in on it and might have even helped–committing murder had been the fact that they'd wanted to raise Valtor a certain way and getting rid of his father had been necessary to make sure he wouldn't interfere with that. Which had probably also been the reason behind Valtor's grandmother "falling" off the balcony in the light of day. If they hadn't posed a threat on Belladonna's plans for Valtor's upbringing they probably would've still been alive–her husband at least–and following her agenda just like everyone else was.

Remembering she was one hundred percent certified living with murderesses was not helping her relax when the exhaustion was flaming in her muscles so she dragged herself over to the library to pick a good book to crash on the couch in there with. It was the one place that she adored in the mansion–other than her and Valtor's bedroom–even if Lysslis was often there herself.

There were so many books gracing the shelves with their elegance and knowledge or countless worlds waiting to be explored and it was the richest room in the mansion. It was a dream come true to have a library that size and Griffin took all the chances she got to enjoy it.

She found a book of poetry that seemed to predate even her mothers-in-law–and that was magical in a whole another way as it was proof that they hadn't been there from the start so maybe they wouldn't make it to the end either–and curled up in its embrace. The words were caressing her tenderly–especially when she imagined them in the context of her and Valtor's love–and managed to unwrap some of the day's tension from around her to let her get more comfortable. Almost to the point where she'd fall asleep but that thought was ran over by the sound of Valtor's car pulling over at the driveway.

She laid the book down on the table carefully, letting herself lose the page as all that mattered was finding her way out of the room as soon as possible, and ran down the stairs to greet him. They usually didn't let her do that when they held her hostage in the living room and watched her like she was the wild game they were hunting that day. They didn't want her going out in the rain–concerned about how any potential illnesses would reflect on her ability to bear children, no doubt–but it rained so often over the mansion that she was starting to hate it when she couldn't do any gardening even if it'd used to be a relaxing sound to read a good book to while sipping tea which, really, made perfect sense as a lot of things weren't at all as enjoyable as they'd used to be.

She got the upper hand that evening as she rushed to the door before they could block her way as they came from the study. It was supposed to be Valtor's nowadays but they had no qualms about coming and going as they pleased and rummaging through the documents. They'd even spoiled the surprise when he'd reserved a quiet villa at the seaside for them since they hadn't been able to spoil the vacation itself. At least not to the point to which they'd wanted to.

Sarah stepped out of her way and rather enthusiastically, too, instead of with fear like she avoided the old witches that still acted like they were her bosses when she was officially working for her and Valtor now. It could also have something to do with the fact that she was getting starry eyed at the sight of her and Valtor together as she seemed genuinely happy about them–though, that could be because they treated her as a human and not just as the help–and even congratulated them on their happiness every time she found the occasion.

Griffin opened the door and was met with a bouquet of white gently greeting her eyes as if Valtor had known she would be the one to meet him this time. It must have been some powerful intuitive cue since that was a rarity and he couldn't have predicted it any other way.

"For the woman of my heart," Valtor said as he grinned at her and handed her the gardenias.

She could feel their sweet scent reaching her even when her fingers hadn't even caressed the blossoms yet. It wafted through the air to encapsulate her in itself and entered her brain to pull forward memories of all the previous times he'd brought her flowers–not just gardenias–that were just as exquisite as the bouquet itself.

Griffin took the flowers from him and stepped away to let him in. "Kept safe and sound," she noted as she felt the plastic container that was undoubtedly full of water under her fingers. It was like a small plastic vase hidden under the bouquet wrap to keep the flowers fresh.

"Vanessa knows what she's doing," Valtor said as he took off his coat and let Sarah put it away.

"She certainly does." Unlike that daughter of hers. "And you do, too," Griffin praised as deserved. He'd learned her tastes–though, Vanessa probably knew just as well and would have had him covered anyway–and knew just how to make her day which she really appreciated after the day she'd had. "Come here, man of my heart," she said as she pulled him towards herself, careful not to damage the flowers after he'd found the time in his busy schedule to get them for her.

Her lips were on his and his body pressed into her finally felt like she'd come home after she'd been kept on edge all day like only his mothers could do to her when they shook her sense of self to the very core and made her doubt everything she was and knew. Everything except Valtor and her love for him. That always came out victorious regardless of what schemes they were running–and they'd done their best to separate them by pushing various ghosts of the past in their way until they'd realized that their futures were entangled together and there was no one who could do anything about it–and she trusted she could draw strength from it any time.

Valtor did, too, as he let himself sink into the kiss and pull her deeper in as well when their tongues were dancing together like they sometimes did in the privacy of their bedroom where it was just the two of them in the universe and the rhythm of the music that wrapped around them to keep the happiness of those moments safe and protected. His hands were on her waist and holding her close to him like he always did. It was the most reassuring thing to know he wanted her with him always. Especially when she wanted the same.

She wanted to be with him, for as long as the stars would shine on them when they climbed on the roof at night to watch them. She knew their love would be endless like the string of words of the countless books in the mansion's library was. The two of them had a long road ahead that nothing could block even when they were bound to returning to the manor no matter how far they'd managed to get during their latest car ride but it still felt like home when she was with him.

"Somehow that didn't sound too sincere," Valtor murmured when they parted even if the words weren't supported by the ecstatic beating of his heart under her palm. "I might need more convincing," he cupped her cheek, the softness of the touch begging to have more added to it and she couldn't refuse even if she'd wanted to. And she could never get mad at him just because he was looking for excuses to draw her into another kiss even if he didn't need them when she would give him all the love and all the tenderness he wanted. It was something she wanted to do with her life and nothing could make her doubt that no matter how many slippery slopes she had to climb to get to him.

Griffin leaned in again but she'd barely felt his lips against hers when Belladonna's voice made for a crack between them and shoved an entire replica of Antarctica in it forcing her to pull as far away from the cold as possible which left space between her and Valtor as well.

"If you're going to have sex tonight, at least do keep it down," she said, her voice even like it was gliding on a solid foundation of ice and not their private and intimate experiences but that couldn't phase Griffin anymore. "You make more noise than a gathering at the patio," Belladonna added her finishing touch of humiliation, the burning gold of her eyes scorching at Griffin's skin when she looked at her to let her know that one was directed exclusively towards her.

"I guess it's time to use that ball gag you bought for me," Griffin said as she turned her head towards Valtor but let her gaze seep towards her mother-in-law out of the corner of her eye. Hopefully, she'd drown in the lack of shame in it.

It had felt like she'd been engulfed in flames the first time she'd gotten reprimanded about her loudness by her witches-in-law which had coincidentally been about the wedding night since she and Valtor hadn't even gotten a proper honeymoon on pretext that it wasn't the season for holidays–as if there weren't a ton of places where it'd been sizzling hot at the time–and the manor needed to get acquainted with its new Mistress which wouldn't have been a problem if they'd let her move in before the wedding but they'd insisted that that wasn't possible since she wasn't an official part of the family yet. She'd felt like a criminal caught red-handed and it had left such a profound acrid taste in her mouth that she hadn't been able to eat until they'd forced her to because she needed to stay healthy.

She'd been throwing up most of the first week of her married life and had thrashed in bed in the midst of her nightmares–not just because of the severe meddling in their private affairs, but also because of the control they were trying to exercise over every aspect of her life while giving the illusion they were passing everything in her hands only to overwhelm her more with the care for the household and make her beg for their help–instead of sleeping serenely in Valtor's embrace. They'd both ended up sleep deprived and exhausted in the middle of the work week and she'd sworn she'd never let them get to her head like that again. She'd play their game if that was what they wanted and she was going to win it.

"It would seem so," Valtor said, his arm snaking around her waist to keep her close when that gave him not just courage, but safety. Quite literally since he'd admitted to her that they hadn't allowed themselves to be as cruel to him after they'd learned she was a part of the picture as they'd been before that. Probably because they didn't want her to know about the monstrosities they'd committed against him before that and she hated to think of his suffering so she didn't when she knew he didn't want to talk about it either. She would gladly listen if he wanted to talk, though. So far he hadn't but she was there for him if and when he decided to share. "If we can't soundproof the bedroom," Valtor noted and it was a clear accusation or at least retaliation despite how casually it was thrown out there. They'd raised him in their image, after all, and deserved their own venom spat in their faces so that it would leave his system and free him of itself when it could never be useful for anything except paralyzing him in its drops like an insect caught in amber.

"The mansion needs to remain authentic, Valtor," Lysslis said, her words far closer to a hiss than she normally allowed them to get. But it was no wonder considering how touchy a subject change was when applied to the manor.

Lysslis–and her sisters, too–were hellbent on keeping the house as it was which she was sure had nothing to do with the fact that all of the previous owners had only done the necessary construction work to preserve the visage of the building and had avoided altering it in any way. They were just using the pretext of that to keep the manor the soulless home that it was and keep all of its inhabitants trapped in that paradox. It was just their hunger for control and power masked as care which was their trademark but that didn't make it any less grotesque.

"And it would be much easier to put up with the noise if it were an occasional occurrence but you two insist on fucking like rabbits," Tharma said, not missing a chance to stab at their active sex life to kill it.

She seemed to have difficulty getting over that time she'd walked in on them having sex in Valtor's office but it was her own damn fault for not knocking and barging in like she owned the place when she never had, all the decisions she'd ever made for the company falling over it through the channel of Belladonna's temporary reign while Valtor still hadn't been of age. She'd been absolutely scandalized and Griffin suspected that it had something to do with the fact that Valtor would forfeit work to have carnal fun which just added to Tharma's incomprehension, she was sure, since the woman was the only one of the three sisters who had never been married, and she'd been furious that they'd put her in a position in which she didn't have the upper hand when she was so hopelessly lost.

"We've raised you to be a lion, Valtor," Belladonna said and Griffin was surprised by the precision of the comparison when Valtor was the alleged king of the world but it was the lionesses that had made him who knew how to hunt and set the rules of the game. He was nothing but an oversized kitten on a leash in his mother's lap. "The least you can do is make sure the company and the family name get their next heir if you insist on imitating street cats," Belladonna didn't let the opportunity to express her own disdain with their priorities slip through her fingers that could be nothing short of ice cold when that was what her heart was.

"Thank you, Sarah," Griffin took the time to show her gratefulness for having her flowers removed from the scene–especially when she saw how quick Sarah was to make her escape and it was completely understandable that she didn't want to get caught in the upcoming storm–because she was sure they wouldn't handle the intensity of the argument that was about to plow into them. And even if they could, she didn't want to stain them with the ugliness of her reality when they were meant to brighten the bedroom with their beauty and weave a fantasy of another life around her with their sweet scent. "Contraceptives do tend to prevent pregnancy," she said as she turned her gaze on Belladonna now that the bouquet wasn't threatened with withering away under her fierce attacks towards every part of Griffin's life when she tried to bend it to her will.

"Perhaps you should rethink taking them," Belladonna said and the wording was all wrong when it wasn't a suggestion. It was an order at best and a threat at worst and Griffin had learned enough by now to know that it didn't matter which option it was as she had to be scared of both and of the way one would inevitably turn into the other if she let it.

"Perhaps you should rethink whatever horrid idea just started forming in your head." She could practically hear the thoughts in Belladonna's mind moving slowly but surely like an iceberg waiting to sink her tiny boat when it broke it in pieces upon collision. "If you switch out my pills and get me pregnant without my consent, I swear to you you won't see even the outside of this house ever again and I won't give a single fuck about the goddamn contract," Griffin spat out, clutching tightly at Valtor as all she had left to do was pray that she'd made herself clear enough, pray that she'd scared the monsters because she didn't know of another weak place of theirs that she could hit and it would be the end of her if she'd failed.

"Well, if that child has your character, it will at least be worth the wait," Belladonna said, letting her know she'd won the fight and she could breathe freely. For now. Hopefully, even until she herself decided to go through giving birth. "Not so much if it's like Valtor who never dared stand up to us."

She looked at him as if her words weren't piercing deep enough and she needed to hammer them in his heart through his eyes so that she could break them, too, and make him unable to see anything beautiful in the world ever again. She was just being a fucking bitch now since she knew damn well they'd abused him into obedience every time he'd tried to exhibit something else and Griffin would gladly remind her that but Valtor's grip tightening on her waist stopped her.

"Argulus and I did strike the deal, mother," Valtor said, his voice firm as if his eyes weren't trying to bleed tears when Belladonna's words had cut deep into his soul. He still cared about her approval which was masochistic and practically suicidal when he would never get anything but freezing water on his enthusiasm about any activity of his that just made it sizzle out and the steam carried away a part of his soul with it. It was painful to watch the best proof that Belladonna did not love him, did not know what love was at all, since she could see what she was doing to him and there was no reaction from her.

Not a normal one at least since she observed him like he was an experiment and she was waiting to see how long he'd need to crack under the crushing lack of praise from her.

Now that she was married to him, Griffin was a guinea pig, too, serving as a test subject to see how much you could break someone by torturing the love of their life, the only thing holding her in place was Valtor's arm around her when she knew she was his support just like he was hers. She could help with his burden and he could help with hers when they chose to carry them together and didn't do it because they were forced to.

"Excellent," Tharma said, the word like a whiplash echoing around them when it was so out of place. "Then all of your wife's work won't have to go to the garbage," she said, making Griffin nauseous even though she was used to the irresponsible waste of resources that the manor was a home to.

She had absolutely no doubt that they would've thrown out the dinner they had her cooking all day in the case of failure to punish both Valtor and her and then would've nagged at them about the meat they'd had to sacrifice when hunt was becoming harder throughout the years. Yet, they always came back proud of the murders that never dwindled in number just like they only used their old age when it was in their interest.

"He and his wife will be coming to dinner tomorrow evening," Valtor ignored the remark when it couldn't possibly ruin his mood more than it had already been but his words made Griffin's head snap towards him.

"Valtor, Faragonda and Hagen are coming tomorrow," she reminded gently as she didn't mean to scold him even if she felt near tears herself. There was no way she'd be allowed to have her "unrefined" friends over when there was a semi-business dinner going on and so instead of having people she loved over she would have to stand the company of another rich-and-proud-of-it couple in her home which she was used to by now as there was someone over for dinner at least twice a week but in this particular instance she was even less thrilled about the company.

"I'm sorry, Griffin," Valtor said as he looked at her, the ice of his eyes begging for her forgiveness which she would've granted far easier if she weren't struck in place by the lightning bolt that the realization that her gardenias were an apology and not a romantic gesture was. "You know Argulus insists on sealing the deal with a dinner and they'll be out of town for the next two weeks."

Of course, they would be. Bloom was probably flying to cloud nine at the idea of another expensive vacation. Or rather was carried there by Argulus who was a slave to her every whim which was the least he could do after taking her away from her family and changing her until she wasn't herself anymore. Though, it was arguable how much you could be changed without your own agreement and that had left Vanessa and Mike blaming themselves for not giving her a better life, for not giving her the life that Marion and Oritel would have sponsored had they been alive to raise their own daughter.

Griffin was sure they were turning in their graves thanks to the spoiled brat Bloom had become after she'd met Argulus who'd revealed her origins to her and had made her pursue the family fortune until she'd finally taken her claim over it just a month after the two had gotten married which was a bit of a coincidence too suspicious to be one to everyone with half a brain but, unfortunately, one half of Bloom's had been full of her newly found funds and the other one of her husband so that hadn't registered. And while that was a good enough excuse in that particular instance, it did nothing to justify the fact she'd stopped visiting Daphne at the hospital and had left Mike and Vanessa help her fight through the coma she'd been sent in by a reckless motorcyclist that had hit her on her way out of Argulus' office after a fight with him about her sister.

Griffin couldn't believe that was the same girl she'd held in her arms when she'd still been a teenager herself but Marion had trusted her enough to let her hold her baby. The future had seemed so bright before the coordinated attack meant to take out the entire family that had left the two girls orphans instead but at least they'd found their way to a loving home only for Bloom to turn away from that because of that vulture that her husband was.

The only thing that had Griffin keeping her mouth shut was that she'd only met Valtor through his connection to Argulus and her connection to Bloom. That and the fact that she didn't want to upset Mike and Vanessa who would inevitably hear Bloom's complaints were Griffin to say anything which left her begrudgingly accepting that she had to go through that dinner the next evening. Really, the only worst thing would have been having to stand Diaspro and all of her greatness now that she was doing whatever she wanted with all of Erendor and Samara's fortune after Bloom left Sky and he was led right back into the trap of Diaspro's arms around his neck.

"This can't wait," Valtor said, his voice quiet but it was the apologetic tone that pricked her all over like it was trying to see where she'd bleed from first. He was terrified of her reaction when the memories of his mothers' outbursts were playing in his mind and she hated the fact that she'd given him a reason to make the connection when she herself had quite the temper and enough pettiness to go for revenge instead of resolving the conflict.

"You'll just have to cancel your appointment, honey," Lysslis said, staining yet another pet name with her venom. She knew damn well Griffin would never be able to stand Valtor calling her any of the ones she'd used. And she'd used them all. She'd made sure there wasn't something special that only he would call her and he'd have to resort to her name which everyone else used as well. Lysslis thought she could diminish their bond like that but her name would always sound differently coming from Valtor's mouth when all of his love for her was woven in it. None of his mothers could ever sully that.

"We'll have to plan the menu so the help can get to it right away tomorrow morning," Tharma said to remind her that her cooking was good enough for her common-folk friends and even the three Mistresses of the Ancestral Manor were resigning to it to fulfill her wishes but her meals weren't refined enough for their high society guests. And after she'd spent all day cooking their requested dinner. It was crossing the line which would mean something if there were any lines for the three of them.

"Let me play you something, Griffin," Valtor caught her hand and held all of her anger as if it was his doing and his responsibility. His eyes were begging her forgiveness and she couldn't take that away from him when they'd already taken everything from both of them. It wasn't his fault her plans were abolished yet again. She'd known that business always came first even when he didn't want it to and he just wanted to make things right for her which she appreciated but didn't want to burden the notes with his guilt which would undoubtedly warp the melody.

"I would love to hear anything you have for me," Griffin made sure to emphasize the last word and was happy to see it reached his heart and he read into it, his shoulders falling out of the stiff embrace of the stress that had been wrapped around them to leave him able to play the piano with all of his skill and that was an ocean she could float in forever.

They headed towards the living room, still entangled as they were when they pushed past his mothers who, surprisingly, did not try to object but followed them there. Of course, they wouldn't let them have a private moment anywhere outside their own bedroom even when they had to plan the dinner the following evening.

Belladonna looked at her as she was settling down next to her sisters to tell her what she'd heard many times echoing in her head after the woman's gaze shouted it inside her brain. You chose to be the next wife of the Ancestral Manor.

But she hadn't. She'd only ever wanted to be Valtor's hence why she was next to him on the bench in front of the piano even if she had no business there since business had nothing to do with their relationship much to her mothers-in-law's chagrin. And if letting the manor and the three witches that controlled it claim as much of her time as they could get their claws into was the only way to spend the rest of her life with him, then she was ready to pay the price. Because she didn't even want to try to imagine a life without him. She could do it, she knew. But it wouldn't be real. It wouldn't be a life. Just existence.

She laid her head down on Valtor's shoulder knowing that he wouldn't mind. And nobody was asking his mothers, the sounds of the piano shutting them up when even they didn't allow themselves to interrupt art when it was engraved all over the manor and was practically a part of it. And their love was the purest form of art as they kept weaving it together despite all the sharpness in its way as the melody proved when it filled the emptiness of the mansion around them and drowned out any scorn coming from his mothers to let them grow together despite all attempts of his mothers to turn them into something they weren't. They were in love and that was their home.

[doctordiscord123]

1. I was listening to Honey I’m Home by Ghost while writing this,,, Warnings: Blood, cannibalism, gross, angst, lotta angst, sooo much angst, references/implied self mutilation, implied betrayal, brutal deaths, Dr. Iplier cracks, The Author sucks, implied possession  Dr Iplier walked into the manor with a sigh. It’d been a good day, albeit long. “Host, I’m home!” he called as he shrugged off his coat. His brows furrowed when he got no response, looking up. Normally Host would have already tackled him and dragged him somewhere comfy to aggressively cuddle him, but he heard nothing. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he grimaced, cautiously moving through the manors entryway, cautiously climbing the stairs. The Google’s office door was open, and he cautiously peered around the corner. He almost choked when he saw the androids, nothing but scrap parts in a pile, barely distinguishable even with the scraps of color. The Googles heads were violently torn from there necks, placed on the desk like trophies. Bing was in the corner, whole and deactivated, except for the massive sparking gap in his chest, holding his own motherboard in a limp hand. “What the hell…?” The doctor whispered. He’d repair them, but he was no engineer. He’d probably make it worse… He continued on, every muscle tense and every sense alive with unease. The next door he dared to peer into was King’s, but only because his curiosity was too great. King was one of the most level headed and most in sync with animalistic sense of survival. Surely he could’ve found somewhere to hide, even if he couldn’t leave the manor?  

The sight sent ice down his spine, and he felt nausea rear its ugly head deep in his stomach, something inside him cracking slightly. Blood stained the floor, both fresh and dried. King’s crown was thrown across the floor, his cape somewhere nearby, the white fur now a deep crimson. The source of the blood was in the center of the room, a body that had been violently torn open, shards of bones scattered around. Someone was hunched over them, animalistic growls echoing from deep in their chest, strong arms ripping the corpses rib cage apart. The doctor must have made a noise, because they turned to face him, golden eyes gleaming from behind askew glasses, the white dress shirt they wore was now crimson, glittering oddly. Iplier silently yelped and ducked behind the corner again, breathing rapidly, before letting out a silent sigh when he didn’t hear footsteps. He didn’t dare go by the room incase Bim was waiting for him, instead choosing to go back down the stairs quietly and go around to the other flight. He didn’t really feel mentally prepared to enter any other rooms, but there was a few people he had to know the fates of…

Dark’s office door was closed, but when he tried the handle, it was unlocked. He cautiously looked inside. Dark wasn’t brutally dismembered, which was surprising at this point. He was chained in front of the desk, forced on his knees, wrists bound behind his back with golden metal, head bowed with a ring of the strange golden metal around his neck, keeping him still. He didn’t look up when Iplier cautiously entered, nor did he react when the doctor whisper yelled his name.

The doctor kneeled beside him, waving a hand in front of the demons face and grimacing when he got no response. He gently pushed Dark’s jaw up to look at the doctor, and his grimace deepened when he met flat, cold eyes. He was alive, but certainly not present. He examined the chains next, touching them before jerking away when Dark let out a cry of agony, whirling to face him as he went limp again. “…no touchy it is. Damn. Times like this I REALLY wish I had an aura…” he grumbled, slowly standing. He hated to leave him like this, but there was nothing he could do now… He closed the door behind him, letting out a heavy sigh before moving on, keeping his steps as silent as he could. He really didn’t want to see this, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep until he did. He took a deep breath before cautiously opening the door to Eric’s room. At first, he saw nothing but darkness, and he had to wait for his eyes to adjust, not daring to enter the room, just praying that the kid at least died quickly… The first thing he noticed was Reynold, which was…not that surprising, now that he thought about it. The back of his shirt was torn and battered, bone fragments stabbing out of his skin, blood covering the floor around him. His spine was certainly shattered, from blunt force it looked like. From what the doctor could see, the bigger man was covering Eric protectively, probably trying to hide him, but the doctor wasn’t to keen to find out how poorly that failed… He shut the door, nausea swelling as bile rose in his throat, but he forced it back. He had to find the Host. He didn’t know who did this, and he knew he would be found and killed. If Dark had been tamed, the doctor stood no chance. He just had to know the fate of his beloved first.

He walked cautiously into his lab first, mildly surprised to find the Host there, both alive and even

there

. His bandages weren’t around his head, his coat undone and flaring out behind him with each puff of the AC.

“Host?” His voice cracked, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose sharply when the Host slowly turned around. Dr. Iplier blinked in surprise when his locked eyes with hypnotizing golden irises. A small smirk was on the Host’s bloodstained face, a notebook and plain pen in hand, and a rumbling chuckle rolled through the room. “

Who are you calling ‘Host’? I’m The Author.” Everything clicked inside the doctors head a moment to late. He turned to run, but the door slammed shut behind him, The Author approaching slowly, humming to himself, gnawing idly on the back of his pen. “Doctor Iplier…” He muttered to himself, testing the sound as aurous eyes froze the doctor in place. A hand ghosted over his jaw, and he suppressed a shiver, every instinct screaming for him to run but those damn eyes keeping him frozen in place. Another chuckle like thunder rumbled through The Author. The God spoke, low and amused. “There are so many things you’ll never understand. Just take my hand, and you’ll never go astray.” The doctor was torn. He remembered the carnage that became of his family, but those gilded eyes and thunderous voice that sounded so much like the Hosts’ tore at his willpower. He tried to pray for a new reality, that this was all a dream. “Come with me, doctor, and we can change night into day.” Calloused fingers ghosted over his jaw again, and he finally managed to tear his eyes away from the others. He shut his eyes, trying to think clearly. He KNEW this was a bad idea, that The Author would kill him slowly and painfully, make him regret being born. His hands clenched into fists, falling back to his default mindset; emotions weren’t an option right now. This wasn’t the Host. This was a monster in the Host’s body.(edited) He opened his eyes again to glare at the offer, refusing to look at those alluring golden depths, and he gave the Author a clenched-teeth smile. “Sorry. I have patients to attend to.” He solidly struck the Author in the ribcage, winding him and sending him stumbling before ripping the writing tools from his grip, shoving him to the ground and grabbing a scalpel from his desk. While the Author was still reeling, Dr. Iplier sat his full weight down upon his chest, and he let out a huff of air before freezing when he felt cold metal touch the delicate skin of his neck. “I really shouldn’t be so considerate about this,” The Doctor began, “Considering what you did to my family. I’m also quite lucky you’re not the Host. He would’ve seen this coming a mile away.” He mused, still refusing to meet his eyes.

“W-what?” The Author didn’t dare raise his voice above a whisper, every movement of his throat bringing him that much closer to the paper-thin razor against his pulse. The doctor couldn’t stop the bitter laugh even if he wanted to.

“You don’t know? Your body was inhabited by a decent person for a minute there. Shame you had to rear your ugly head again.” He hissed. “and I was his doctor. Hell, I was everyone’s doctor in this chaotic house. You want to know something funny about doctors?” The Author simply raised an eyebrow, fighting to keep his breathing even, arms pinned beneath the doctors thighs. “It’s highly likely that we went through nursing school. I happened to. Do you know what nurses learn?” He didn’t give the Author a chance to ask, voice dripping with menace and venom. “Nurses are the ones who know every. Little. Thing. About their patients. They’re the ones who find out first if there’s a fluke in your blood, and how to draw that blood. As I am the only resident doctor…” The blade pressed closer, and the Author sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “…I am also your nurse.” The Author realized what he meant a moment to late, eyes widening as the razor cut into his skin, just beside his main artery, and he yelped. “I won’t kill you quickly.” He laughed, a low, bitter sound. “Oh, no. I’ll let you bleed out slowly, feeling the bitter sting and burn of a cut for each person you slaughtered.” He hissed. “And with your blood, I’ll decorate their memorial, as a way of apology and to let them know you finally got what was coming for you.” The Author gave him a slightly weird look, but the doctor didn’t look at his face, bringing the blade down to his collarbone, tracing a thin cut alone the bone, silently reveling the hiss. “Now, how many people HAVE you killed, anyways?" 

–

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

MY GUY!!!!

WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME!

I LOVE IT BIGLY

BUT WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!

POOR DARK

POOR ERIC

BIMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

HNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

[ayyymeric]

A Lion Born

It had been a quiet night, dull almost the lavish manor shining as bright as ever -- a bright star among the many that was Radz-at-Han in the evening. Greenery lay about the expanse of the home, fountains dotting corners of the garden, birds and other fanciful animals slumbering as if naught were amiss. A beautiful lie, that.

A shroud of untruth was what it was, a veil of richness covering the darkness that lingered inside that sordid ugly reality that was the mercantile family Bakshi. The smell of blood was thick, overpowering and making Agniprava dizzy, Viera senses proving to be a problem as ever even as the dagger clanged loudly against delicate marble flooring. It was so loud, drowning out everything else around him that it was almost too hard to focus. Almost like a period at the end of a sentence, the sound of metal silenced everything that had been before, that cacophony of angry voices, the shrill screams of death, the sickening plunge of knife meeting flesh -- all of it was gone, lost in the echo. Ruby eyes were wide and yet unseeing. All he could focus on was the child before him, one he had so lovingly raised as if he were his own standing over the body of what had been the young lad's torment for those long eighteen summers.

It was just a body now, soulless, no life left as the woman bled out on the floor, adding color to the once pure whiteness reflecting back at them. Purity stained, innocence lost in violence Rahithya -- no, he was Kaua now, wasn't he? -- fell to his knees in the red puddle, hands touching what would be cruel warmness against his skin, fingers splaying, painting his fingers and palms. Agniprava's heart was thudding against his chest, vibrating his very core.

"You'll never yell at me again now, will you?" He heard a quiet voice say, tones quaking with anger and relief all in one. The Viera watched as Kaua reached over, bloodied hands grasping the dead woman's chin, shaking her head this way and that, unseeing eyes fixated on nothing. Laughter rang out in the common room, a twisted aching pain making it heavier, the words repeating over and over like some sort of mad mantra. It had all happened so quickly that it was still taking some time to process. Agniprava had managed to get away from the master to meet with Kaua, elated to have the boy home at last only to be assaulted with questions of a girl who looked just like the young master. It was like looking into a mirror, she was me! the boy yelled, holding the Viera's hand so tightly. The racket had summoned the boy's step mother, the words only igniting her anger; how dare they bring up the mistress, how dare they bring about such memories of the worst day of her life. With his eyes downcast as was mandatory, Agniprava didn't see the strike the woman had coming for him nor had he seen Kaua grabbing her arm and pulling the knife from his kurta. It was only when he heard knife meeting flesh did he finally lift his head.

It was too late by then.

Just as Agni was moving towards Kaua the doors had flung open, the Viera instantly flinching as the scent he dreaded most filled his nose. Madhavaditya. He felt frozen in place, ice filling his veins as the man said nothing, stalking past him and moving right for Kaua. Why didn't he move? Why was he so frightened? Was it fear? Or was everything just... moving so slowly? The audible smack brought Agni back to his senses, his eyes lifting once again to find Kaua across the floor, a bloodied hand to his face the boy's father standing over him as he took in the scene, the body of his first wife, her blood spilling onto the floor.

Move.

"What have you done?" Madhavaditya roared, his voice amplified by the vastness of the room.

Move.

"Rid you of a burden." Kaua spat, teeth bared the boy's face was stained in the blood of his tormentor. "Like you tried to get rid of my own sister, I only did a better job than you."

Move.

Agniprava could only imagine the look of absolute fury on Madhavaditya's face; he knew it all too well. There were no words, only a heavy silence that could be felt. Time knew no solid place here. One moment Madhavaditya was moving for the bloodied dagger and the next he was making steps towards Kaua, the boy's hand raised in his own defense and Agni was moving at last in the final seconds. The Viera bounded over, tackling his master down onto the ground as flames shot out of Kaua's palm. They collided roughly onto the marble, Madhavaditya's head smacking roughly against the floor it did little to deter the man's rage.

His master knew that he had no intention of saving him. Madhavatiya knew him far too well when Kaua was involved. The man's large hand was pressed against Agni's face, his own hands wound tightly around his bejeweled neck, crushing precious metals into skin. He detested that hand the most. It had brought him nothing but pain, sickening feelings. Even now he could feel the myriad of scars across his back burning from memory and it only fueled his grip.

Madhavaditya gasped for air, fingers pressing against Agni's face, clawing as one digit found purchase right into his eye. "You would strike me for that bastard?" his master wheezed and pain bloomed in Agni's skull. The more pressure he applied to the neck the more Madhavaditya applied to his eye socket until he swore he could hear some sort of sickening pop.

"I would protect my son." Agni hissed, leaning into that painful hand until he pulled one of his own from his master's neck, grasping the wrist to yank it away from his face. The dagger came flying in and Agni only pulled back enough in time for it to slice across his already ruined, bleeding socket. The Viera lifted Madhavaditya by the throat only to slam his body back into the marble, both hands now grasping his master's head and crushing it against the floor with a sickening crunch.

Agniprava rose on shaky legs, grasping the dagger just as small arms threw themselves around his waist. Whatever pain he felt washed away in that instant, his arm wrapping around Kaua's tiny shoulders his unsullied hand tangled in the boy's soft hair. A now sole ruby eye stared beyond at the corpse of the woman who had mutilated her step-son's ears, "I won't let anyone hurt you anymore."

"No, Bāpū-ji." Kaua said softly in reply, his own mismatched green eyes staring at the corpse of the man who had called himself his father. "I won't let anyone hurt you anymore."

Everything that happened next had been nothing but a whirlwind. Kaua cleaned up his own face and hands before quickly attending to Agniprava's bleeding face. The eye was gone, that was a fact and yet the knife had left a deep enough score across the lid that it would be sealed shut once it had healed. The boy wrapped Agni's head in gauze and bid him help him to gather what they could of the Bakshi fortune. Madhavaditya had been mostly paranoid, keeping all of his gold and fineries inside the manor to look over for himself. Agni had fished the keys to the vault off the corpse and looted what they could, carrying chests of coin and trinkets and silks into one of the gardener's carts, stowing it away beneath hay and tarp.

All of the servants had gone to their respective homes for the evening before everything had transpired, leaving only the guards wandering the halls or at their posts and the manse itself. With Kaua starting on one end and Agniprava on the other, they each set fires to as many rooms as they could, the flames spreading quickly along the tapestries and rugs. If they were met with a guard the guard would meet their end, Kaua wielding the dagger and Agni having pilfered one of the shamshirs from the armory.

Would his mother be weeping in the heavens above with her son leaving such carnage in his wake. He was meant to protect, that was his core duty, what his person was made of. Protect others.

He was protecting his son. Even if he and Kaua were not of blood, the boy was his son.

Would you have done the same had you the chance, the strength, ammā?

It was near morning by the time both he and Kaua were riding away from the burning manse on the cart, Agniprava holding the reins so tightly in his hands he almost feared he would break them. Only when he felt Kaua's warm hand rest gently on his knuckles did his grip ease.

"You're free now, Bāpū-ji. A free man for the first time. You can have whatever name you wish and start life anew a rich man." Kaua reassured him, gently squeezing the Viera's fist.

Agniprava said nothing for what seemed like near bells, his only eye staring out into the distant sands. His heart felt heavy with the weight of the lives of the men he had killed in the manor, men he had known. They weren't bad people though not so good either. Some had partaken in his torture in the hands of Madhavaditya and some did not. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Agni unclenched his jaw not having realized it, "I would keep the names my mother had graced me with but I cannot for her sake carry her surname any longer." his voice quaked, weighted by his decisions. "I cannot be a Jhaveri in good conscious."

He could feel Kaua's grip weaken at the remark and Agni quickly turned his head to face him, a hand pulling down the blue and gold striped saari from his face to reveal the smile beneath. "I will be Singh. A Viera turned lion, teeth bared to protect my child."

[seductresses-temple]

Nine Months Brings Forth New Life

Okay! So, @rose-grangerweasleyisbae just recently had a birthday and she is honestly one of the sweetest followers ever. She always says the most beautiful, heart warming, smile inducing things so I wrote something really random for her birthday 🎂 🎁 🍰 by random I mean, I honestly opened a google doc and started writing lol. I wanted to write something...full of possibilities, I guess?

Trigger warning: Mental Health mentions and mentions of self mutilation

________________________________________

Draco sighed, plopping down ungracefully, un-Malfoy-like, into the all too familiar leather chaise. He shifted around for a moment until he deemed himself comfortable enough before lolling his head over to the side to look at Clara who was gazing at him with her typical, bemused expression. He smiled at her tiredly, even he could feel that it didn’t quite reach his eyes, but at least he was trying.

“Hello, Draco,” Clara said after a moment “nice to see that you’re punctual as always. You look a bit tired, still having trouble sleeping?”

Draco nodded, locks of hair falling over his eyes. “Another nightmare, some days I feel like they’re getting out of control since I stopped taking the Dreamless Sleep.”

Clara nodded, jotting the information down in a small leather bound pad she kept practically glued to her lap. “Would you like to talk about the nightmare? Was it about the war again, or your father?”

Lucius. Draco could appreciate that Clara never said his name anymore. It brought Draco too many emotions to keep under control. Ever since the war had ended, Draco’s relationship with his father had been non-existent. It was his father’s fault that he and his mother had gotten dragged into the whole ‘serving the Dark Lord’ nonsense. It had been his father’s fault that they’d had to house a blood-thirsty lunatic in their home. Draco’s stomach began to churn just thinking of all the things he’d born witness to while the Dark Lord haunted the halls of Malfoy Manor. To make matters worse, Draco and his mother had nearly been carted off to Azkaban thanks to trying to keep their heads above water in the situation his father had put them in. If it hadn’t been for Potter...Draco was afraid to think what would have happened if it hadn’t been for Potter…

“Draco?” Clara’s voice pulled Draco out of his thoughts. He did that a lot now. Spaced out. Got inside of his head and drifted away from the outside world. It was something he and Clara were trying to work on. Seeing a Mind Healer was part of the terms and conditions involved that kept him and his mother out of Azkaban. One of many conditions.

“It was about my father,” Draco sighed, running a shaky hand through his hair. He’d cut it when his father -ragged and screaming like a raving lunatic- denounced both he and his mother as he was carted off to Azakan with a life-long sentence. It had started with the left side, then the right. Now he’d taken to keeping the sides shaved, the middle long -down to his jaw- and streaked with various shades of light blue. His father had a conniption the first time he saw it. It was so feminine, so queer, so very un-Malfoy. Draco loved it and he loved how much his father hated it.

“What about your father?” Clara had such a soothing voice. Draco loved it. He confessed after a few months of seeing her that her voice reminded him of his mother. Clara was gentle and patient and seemed genuinely concerned about his welfare. The wizarding world spit upon the name Malfoy, it was nice to feel cared for.

“I came out to him. It was such an odd dream. We were in a muggle coffee shop, of all places, my father hates both coffee and muggles so it all seemed surreal and out of place. I sat down in front of my father and watched him sneer at my hair and my clothes and my coffee and I just sort of blurted it out…” Draco fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, frowning.

“You can say it Draco. This is a safe space. I think it would be healthy for you to be able to say the words aloud. They aren’t bad words, you just have a negative association to them because that’s what you were raised to think. Your father raised you to believe they’re something to be ashamed of, Draco, but we’ve talked about this. You don’t have to live your life by his definitions anymore, you’re free to live life on your own terms.” Clara stared at him, her yellow eyes watching him carefully like a hawk. Draco was vaguely reminded of Madam Hooch, her eyes trained to the sky, protective and alert, making sure to catch any of the first years should they fall off their broom. There was a safety in that, something rooted so deeply in Draco that he barely understood it. It made him feel safe, brought him back to a point in his life before his world got blown apart.

“I told my father I’m gay,” he whispered. If he weren’t so bloody tired he most likely would have cringed at how small and insignificant he sounded. He sounded like a child sharing a secret that, well..wasn’t a secret. Pretty much everyone knew. His father certainly knew long before Draco did. His father had always done his best to snuff out that side of him.

A black wardrobe. No color. No life. No expression. End of story.

A lack of affection from his father. No love. No smiles. No hugs. No warmth between men because that would be wrong. End of story.

His father drove him to quidditch. A manly sport. Something physical because he’d kill them both before he had a dancer for a son. If Narcissa took Draco to one more ballet, he was shipping Draco off to Durmstrang. End of story.

His father had taken control of his narrative, at least that’s how Clara put it. Draco quite liked that analogy. He liked reading, liked thinking about his life as a book that wasn’t quite finished yet. His father had written the first half but Draco, well, he could write the second half however he wanted. He liked that.

“What happened after that? How did your father react?”

“He mutated.”

“E-Excuse me?” Clara leaned forward a little, making sure she heard Draco correctly.

“He mutated, the dreamscape changed and suddenly I wasn’t in a muggle cafe with my father anymore, I was in the Hogwarts Great Hall surrounded by the rest of my ‘peers’ and they were...being very vocal about my new appearance,” Draco gestured down to his outfit; black wingtips, tailored, royal purple pants with a matching button down, a grey marled sweater vest, and plum, purple, grey, and black, paisley bow tie.

“So they resorted to name-calling?” Clara raised an eyebrow at him, an expectant, maternal look on her face. She was a stickler for not allowing Draco to get away with vague answers.

“No.”

“Draco,” Clara sighed ever so quietly, glancing at the clock “it’s your hour, Draco, and I understand these things are hard to talk about. Examining our emotions and coming to terms with things that go against what we’ve known and been taught our entire lives is no easy feat. However, you’ve been making such tremendous progress lately, you honestly have, if you’d rather table this discussion for the moment and move on to something else, I support that decision but with you leaving for Hogwarts in a few days, I think this is something we should try to tackle. I’m going to go put the kettle on, would you like a cup of tea?”

“Sure,” Draco murmured, nodded absently. He was already lost in thought by the time Clara left the room. He knew she was right, not that he particularly wanted to admit it. She was so like his mother in that way, speaking logic and reasoning into him even when it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Draco was afraid to go back to Hogwarts. He didn’t want to admit that either. They all hated him and rightfully so. What was the point of going back? It wasn’t like anyone in the wizarding world would higher him all because he sat for his N.E.W.T.S. He was still a Malfoy, for now anyhow, until his father found out he wouldn’t be carrying on the Malfoy name. Not with a woman at least. He sighed, sinking further into the chaise. He didn’t hear Clara come back into the room until the familiar chink of china on wood snapped him back into reality.

“Thank you,” he sat up just enough to take his cup, running a finger over the rim “I’m…” he refused to say scared. “I’m worried about returning to Hogwarts, worried that they’ll all see how much I’ve changed, worried they’ll be able to tell that I’m...gay.” He took a careful, steady sip from his tea, staring down into the cup to avoid Clara. He didn’t want anyone at Hogwarts to know he was gay. They knew too much about him already. Draco sodding Malfoy, ex-death eater, co-conspirator to the death of Dumbledore, prime suspect of the near-deaths of Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley, pompous git, Slytherin Ice King, and the cold-hearted carbon copy of ruthless murder Lucius Malfoy. Parents were already complaining as it. Death Eater children back roaming the halls of Hogwarts? Preposterous! It was bad enough the Ministry was forcing them back to Hogwarts as part of their ‘rehabilitation’ into society, Draco could only imagine what the parents would do if they found out a queer ex-death eater was in their mists.

“I don’t think it would be so bad if they saw you’ve changed, Draco,” Clara took a sip of her tea, giving him that maternal, expectant stare as if he were a small child struggling to discern that two plus two does indeed equal four.

“Wasn’t it you who said, and I quote ‘changing into the man I’ve always felt I should be without my father lurking over every decision I make is one of the best things to ever happen to me?’ or do you no longer feel that way?” Clara continued to stare over the rim of her cup.

Draco remembered that session. Vividly. It was shortly after he had dyed his hair, not too long after his breakdown that had landed him in Mungos for two weeks. Draco learned the hard way that slicing your Dark Mark off landed you in a very cozy room in St.Mungos that just so happened to have white padded walls. “I did say that,” Draco murmured, glancing down at his arm.

“You have changed so much, Draco, made so much progress and have blossomed into a completely different person than the young man I met nine months ago. I think there can be some symbolism in that, nine months, women carry their children to term for nine months and then they birth a new life into the world. You, Draco, carried your trauma for the past nine months and you birthed a new version of yourself into the world. Going back to Hogwarts is your opportunity to foster that new life. It doesn’t have to be a death sentence.”

********************

“You look dashing, sweetheart,” Narcissa smiled sweetly, coming over to Draco and running her fingers through his hair, mussing it up a tiny bit.

“Thank you, mother,” Draco tried to smile but only managed a twitch of the lips. He bent down to grab his school trunk. He’d have to carry it as he wasn’t allowed a wand again until he was on school property. His mother had been kind enough to cast a wandless lightening charming on it.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you, Draco? Between the reporters, the students, the other students, I-” Draco held up a hand to stop her.

“I know you’re worried, mother, but I’ll be fine. They don’t need to put us both in the paper. I’ll write the moment I’m able and at least once a week after. Clara has spoken to Headmistress McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey and its been arranged for me to have my sessions at Hogwarts each week. I’ll…”he kissed her forehead tenderly “I’ll be alright, mother.”

Narcissa nodded, blonde curls bobbing softly. She stared at him, long and imploringly, her blue eyes searching for something. What, Draco wasn’t entirely sure, but he felt small and incredibly young under her gaze. “I love you so,” she whispered, clasping onto his arm, over the spot where his Dark Mark once stood “if you need anything, anything at all, just write home and I’ll come running.” She pulled him into a nearly bone crushing hug, kissing his cheek before letting him leave out the door.

“I love you too, Mother. Everything will be fine,” Draco wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself. All he knew was the night he sliced the Dark Mark off his arm had left them both changed people. It was scary, leaving the comfort of their little bubble, but they would both be better for it. That’s what their Mind Healers kept telling them. By the time Draco came back at Christmas the Manor would be renovated, cleansed, completely different. He hoped he’d return in much the same condition; renovated, cleansed, different.

********************

Kings Cross Station brought about everything Draco had been expecting. He’d been hexed...twice, booed at, spat at, and the vultures from the Daily Prophet had a field day with the drama his mere presence had caused. The only sanctuary he had within it all was that no one wanted to sit with him so he’d managed to find an empty compartment and settle into it. People glared and sneered as they passed by but once the train began moving he felt as though he was finally able to exhale. Pansy, Blaise, and Theo were all headed to Hogwarts by other means which meant he’d be alone the entire trip. Draco wasn’t sure whether to panic or find solace in that but he had to deal with it all the same. He set his robes on the seat next to him and pulled out a muggle book he’d begun reading and curled up in his seat, praying beyond hope that at least the train ride could be uneventful before he spent the next year surrounded by people who’d much prefer if he were dead.

“Malfoy,” Draco wanted to curse, recognizing the voice instantly. He slid his bookmark in to hold his place and looked up into shockingly bright emerald eyes.

“Potter,” he greeted, taking a concentrated effort to keep his voice low and level.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Potter gestured toward the empty seat across from him.

Draco eyed Potter, taking in his appearance. He’d changed in the past nine months. His hair had gotten longer, long enough to completely cover his scar and long enough for him to have a long, thick plait that sat over his shoulder. Apparently Potter had a sense of fashion now. Draco took note of the dragon hide boots and fitted black trousers, the leather jacket that seemed far too big for him but in a devil-may-care sort of way. He wasn’t wearing his glasses anymore either. “Suit yourself,” Draco couldn’t help but feel his curiosity being piqued by this Potter. There was something about him that Draco couldn’t place. An energy that seemed to crackle around him, pulling Draco in, and he felt helpless to stop it.

“I’ve a question for you, Malfoy, this thing that’s just burning in my mind for far too long.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow at him. Since when did Potter speak so openly with him? They had never been friendly. Draco had gone out of his way to make the other boy miserable for far too long. “So you get...clarity of some sort and I?” Draco trailed off, making a flippant gesture with his hand. Old habits died hard with Potter, apparently. However, much to Draco’s surprise, the git had the nerve to smile. Not just smile, but to throw his head back and laugh.

“I thought you might say that,” Potter grinned at him, eyes twinkling in a way that was insufferable reminiscent of Dumbledore. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out an incredibly thin, long box. It could only be one thing and Draco felt his heart clutch painfully in his chest. Potter still had his wand after all this time...He’d managed to convince himself that Potter must have thrown it out, broke it, set it on fire, the scenario was different in his head every time.

“What is it you want to know?” Draco’s voice came out in barely a whisper.

Potter held the box with both hands, leaning forward, whispering conspiratorially “You knew it was me. Why?”

Draco’s breath hitched in his throat. He never thought he’d be confronted with this. He never anticipated Potter wanting to know why. It was something he had only ever spoken to Clara about and even that hadn’t come easily. He swallowed thickly, staring at his wand in Potter’s hands. He was cradling it gently as if it were something precious. It was precious to Draco but he didn’t know if it was worth spilling one of his biggest secrets. He stared at Potter, into those same green eyes that had stopped him in his track that night. “Because I’m in love with you,” he whispered breathlessly, the words rushing out his mouth before he could think about how incredibly stupid it was to say so.

“Oh, bugger off, Malfoy,” Potter laughed, a big bark of a laugh that seemed to make the entire compartment brighter. He shook his head, his braid swinging on his shoulder. “Fine, don’t tell me, but I’m not letting this go.” Potter stood up, using the box containing Draco’s wand to give him a little salute before marching out the door.

Draco sat there in stunned silence. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then snapped it shut. He’d just told Potter he loved him. What in Merlin’s name was wrong with him? As if his life wasn’t difficult enough. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the erratic, hyperactive thump of his heart.

“Oh buggering fuck, kill me now,” Draco whispered to the empty compartment. He’d just confessed feelings he’d kept buried for four years and he hadn’t even gotten to Hogwarts yet. It was going to be an incredibly long year. A long year full of Potter and his nonsense and his...green eyes…”buggering fuck,” Draco groaned. It was going to be a long, long year.